Let the rain wash away my insanity.
It won't be over until 2015 ends.
Because the future is now.
And I always keep calm, be forever and stay young and the restless.

Anonymous.

We speak the same tongue.
I have never seen eyes move the way yours does
they dance
almost as well as you do.
With every step, every flick of your wrist, you
tear through barriers with your eyes and that corner of your mouth that
overflows with joy everlasting.

So young so nieve
Doesn't know what the world means
He says what she wants to hear
She believes him and lives with out fear
He's tricking her. He's using her.
He tells her tall tales
And she stays and listens instead of making bail
Everyone sees what he's doing to her
Trying to convince her to leave before we lose her
He's manipulative and cruel
She follows his commands like its a rule
He won't leave. He won't stop.
Bringing up things that he knows he should drop
He's in her like a drug, a very addictive one at that
Planting in her brain. When we're just trying to get her back

I have slowly but surely fallen in love with poetry.

I love the truth of the raw, cutting words that I can write.
I love the ability of using words to bleed, to express, to encapsulate a moment.
I love the feeling of release, relief and self-happiness that it brings me.
I love the peace of mind.
Poetry soothes my soul, allows me to breathe, allows my mind to wander for a brief period of time.
It allows me to think, to be more than myself, to say exactly how I feel and  not feel embarrassed or ashamed.
I love the voices in my head when I think deeply. I love the way my hand moves effortlessly because the words come so quickly.
I love reading poetry. It truly fascinates me, the way another's mind works and thinks. It captivates me when I can feel their emotions through their words.

I find myself when I write poems. I can paint my mind in writing, and create masterpieces.
I can see life a little clearer and a little brighter.

Fall in love with words.
Fall in love with poetry.

Why am I so scared?
When will I be able to be who I really am?
Will I ever be accepted into society?

Sometimes I wonder what freedom feels like.
What fresh air feels like in my lungs.
What a "good day" truly feels like.

But then sometimes I wonder what it would be like to not have fears.*
To not be cripppled by anxiety over the thought of being around people.
To not have thoughts running marathons in my head.

And then sometimes I wonder what life would be like without the pain of depression.
What it feels like to be okay.
**What normal feels like.

Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,
   Though foolishly he lost the same,
      Decaying more and more,
          Till he became
            Most poor:
            With thee
          O let me rise
        As larks, harmoniously,
    And sing this day thy victories:
  Then shall the fall further the flight in me.

    My tender age in sorrow did begin:
   And still with sicknesses and shame
      Thou didst so punish sin,
           That I became
            Most thin.
            With thee
           Let me combine
     And feel this day thy victory:
     For, if I imp my wing on thine,
   Affliction shall advance the flight in me.

She’s lovely and petite,
Long flowing blonde hair,
The target of constant
Unwanted attention,
The **** of many crude jokes.
Though you can’t deny it
There is a kernel of truth
To every stereotype.
Shallow. Yes she is shallow.
Shallow as the flood waters
Three inches deep, powerful
Enough to sweep your car
Into a watery grave.
Superficial. Yes she is superficial.
Superficial as the thin layer
Of paint on a Renoir or Monet
Colors translucent and divine
Deep and lustrous
Transporting the imagination
To a world of romance and joy.
Clueless. Yes she is clueless.
Clueless as Sherlock Holmes
As he solves a mystery as dark
And complex as any labyrinth
With nary a clue, save for a trail
Of breadcrumbs and a scent of
Gardenia.
Airhead. Yes she is an airhead.
An airhead like the thinnest of air
Atop the mighty Himalayas where
Holy men choose to transcend the
Mundane and commune with
Spirits subtle and ethereal and ultimately
Unknowable.
The world sees her beauty and perhaps
Only her beauty, but they are blinded
By their shallowness, superficiality,
Cluelessness and a brain wallowing
In the clouds of misty ignorance.
Therein lies the joke.